


Nostalgia

by angededesespoir



Series: Widowreaper Week [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Body Horror, Chronic Pain, F/M, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda?, Multi, Nostalgia, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 22:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10728810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angededesespoir/pseuds/angededesespoir
Summary: Widowmaker checks in on Reaper on one of his bad pain days.





	Nostalgia

**Author's Note:**

> _A/N: Day 1- Catalyst._
> 
> _Instead of sleeping, I wrote this. Priorities ™._
> 
> _(Also on[Tumblr](http://angededesespoir.tumblr.com/post/159979945080/nostalgia).)_

The click of heels echo through the room as she emerges from the shadows.

The moonlight shines upon the form, revealing the unstable mass- a man more smoke and ash than flesh and bone.  He’s hunkered over, groaning, shoulders tense and shaking, flitting between states of solidity.  Most of his body unfurls, fills the room, tendrils seeking an energy source. One grazes her calf and quickly pulls back.

Most people avoid him when he’s in this state, learning from others mistakes- a body count they do not wish to be a part of.  It’s usually only her and Sombra that dare get near him.  

She approaches, the stench getting heavier.  She wrinkles her nose.  It will take  awhile to get used to.

She does not know why she feels so drawn to him, why there is something- some...emotion,  that flutters in her chest when he’s in this state.  She does not wish to dwell on it.  It would do her no good.

“Moissonneur?”  she whispers quietly, yet the empty room in its greed for sound, amplifies it.  “Do you have hunger?”

There’s a distorted sound, half groan, half growl, that nearly masks the, “No.”

She does not question him, but she has her doubts.

She rests a hand on his forearm and instinctively he moves to cover the photo in his hand, his body tensing, flickering and curling with waves of rage and storm.

She’s seen this before.  There’s a feeling- unsettling - beneath her skin.  

She dismisses it. Again.

“You do not need them.  They have only caused you pain.”  Her eyes flick over his form.  “They still do.”

His body trembles as he pulls himself tighter, something like a hiss leaving one of his mouths.  

“You know I am right.  It is best to let go of the past.”

Her hand is still on his arm, an anchor to which he clings, even though her touch shoots pain through his nerves.  He’s too raw, too open.  Even still, he does not protest.  He craves the contact, though he’d deny it if asked.

Her words burn in his mind.  He does not tell her how impossible letting go is for him.  That his very nature is a reminder of all that has happened, all that was lost, all that went horribly wrong.

He does not tell her that these pictures are all he has left of who he once was- faded memories lost to time.   _He hardly feels real anymore._

He does not tell her that among his small stash, he keeps a wedding  photo of her and Gérard- a reminder of better times and how he’s failed to protect those who have mattered to him most.  

He looks to the image sometimes and mourns, regrets.  

He does not tell her that she, too, is part of a past he clings to.

In his memories, he still waltzes with her, still remembers her mesmerizing laugh, the light in her eyes as Gérard and her and him clink glasses post-mission, the way his name fell from her lips like a song no matter the situation. 

He does not tell her that when he looks at her, he can still see parts of Amélie.  The way she moves with grace, her perfect aim that once saved so many of his men, the little quips and the caution.

It’s cruel, he thinks, that once again there’s another disconnect.  A person he cherishes by his side, yet so out of reach.

Sometimes it hurts more than his physical pain.


End file.
